The wisps of the ghost were now starting to form; the Hunter knowing the presence is real now set out for the now lone source of water in the forest.
The Hunter broke into a jog, growing impatient with each quickening step. Ever-scanning his surroundings in the blind hope of catching the game with his pants down and end this already. The Hunter wouldn't get so lucky; the forced march carried on, onward through the thickets, through the muck he carried on. Drenched in sweat, the Hunter came to a stop to catch his breath. His uselessly tattered shirt, that seemed to have more holes than fabric was hastily removed and thrown into his pack. Being sweat-drenched, dirt-caked, and lacking of clothes furthered his wild appearance with only his amusing farmer's tan bearing only semblance of belonging to civilization. The mist had grown more apparent as the hunter approached the pond. The Hunter had his gun before him, preparing for the inevitable kerfuffle that awaited him. Scanning his surroundings, there appeared to have been no trace of the game ever being in this part of forest. Assuring himself that the area was clear, the Hunter allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and rest. Approaching the pond in a manner similar to a precautious gazelle in the African plains, the Hunter plunges into the water in an attempt to soak every fiber of his being. The replenishing sensation of the cool water almost made the Hunter forget the immense thirst that surged every inch of his self. Gorging himself on the seamlessly endless pond the Hunter drank until his body could not hold down a drop more. Pausing only to refill his canteen, the Hunter rises up from the pond, throwing his pack over one shoulder and his rifle over the other. He had work to do. .
The sun was still at its peak as the Hunter finished setting up the "raps" in the brush. From what the Hunter could tell, he knew that the game was fairly smart, he hoped he was or it meant that the Hunter was that much dumber.
